


The Garden

by TheSwordAndTheQuill



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 12:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3291071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSwordAndTheQuill/pseuds/TheSwordAndTheQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finds her in the garden. </p><p>Her head is bowed, her arms locked at her sides, hands gripping the rough granite seat as if she is ready to launch herself forward at a moments notice.  Her entire body seems ridged and tense, he can feel the waves of determination rolling off her, can see the sheer will that is holding her together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden

He finds her in the garden. 

It’s a quiet place. Its days of sculpted beauty are long gone, there isn’t much time for tending to the flowers in the middle of a war, but there is a certain tangled wildness in the little stonewalled courtyard that he’s grown fond of over the last few months. He stoops, ducking his head under a low hanging vine and almost misses the little side path winding deeper into the shadows between overgrown hedges. Instinct turns his steps in a short moment he stands on the edge of a tiny clearing just big enough for a stone bench and the woman seated on it. 

Her head is bowed, her arms locked at her sides, hands gripping the rough granite seat as if she is ready to launch herself forward at a moments notice. Her entire body seems ridged and tense, he can feel the waves of determination rolling off her, can see the sheer will that is holding her together.

“Leliana said you might be here.” He says softly, not wanting to startle her, but unwilling to leave her alone here. She looks up sharply and he can see the savage grief in her eyes, it punches into his chest like a well placed arrow. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What do you think?” she spits, but her voice catches on the last word and she looks away, rocking forward until she is perched on the very edge of the seat. 

There was a time in their relationship when he would have taken that for what it was intended, a dismissal, a barb. But he knows her better now.

“OK.” He says, taking a step into the clearing, watching closely to make sure this is indeed the right move. “Well, then we wont talk.” She doesn’t look at him, but she doesn’t object either so he settles into the space beside her, their shoulders almost touching on the narrow bench, and leans back against the wall behind him. Crossing his arms over his chest he tips his head up and studies the night sky above them.

She still says nothing, but he can feel her relaxing slowly by degrees, first the curve of her back and then the ridged line of her arms, and while she doesn’t exactly lean into him, she doesn’t shy away either. They sit there long enough that he’s starting to doze off when she finally speaks.

“It was my idea.” Her voice is low, raw and dripping with loathing. He’s never heard it sound that way before.

“It was a good plan.” He says carefully, leaning forward and trying to get a better look at her in the moonlight. Her expression twists in to humorless laughter, the silver glow dancing along the sharp edges of her face.

“A good plan.” She snorts, “Yes, a very good plan, and all we had to give up in return were a dozen of our best people.”

“Who got the job done.” He says firmly. “There are hundreds of innocent lives that are safer now—“ She turns her face from him and the words die in his mouth.

“Ellia was with them…the operatives…I asked her not to, but she insisted, so I let her go.” She keeps her body angled away, but he can feel the tremors running through her.

“Sweet Maker,” He murmurs, reaching out to touch her, then hesitating. “Josephine…no one said…I’m sorry, I know how much she meant to you.” When she stays silent he continues, trying to find anything to say that is less empty that ‘I’m sorry”. “She knew the risks, they all did, I know that doesn’t mean much right now…but it wasn’t for nothing Jo…it wasn’t for nothing.”

She whips around to face him, tears sliding soundlessly down her cheeks.

“Do you want to know the last thing I said to her? ‘Be sure you finish that paperwork before you leave’. That was it. Those were the last words she heard from me, so don’t give me any of your bullshit platitudes and don’t you dare try and tell me it was worth it!” Her palms thud against his chest, shoving hard enough to rock him back in his seat. 

Her face crumples and she drops her head into her hands, the sobs she’d held at bay now tearing through her. He doesn’t stop to wonder if he’s crossing a line, doesn’t stop to think at all, just leans forward and pulls her into his embrace. Her arms slide around his chest, her fingers curling into the soft fabric of his tunic as she presses her face into his collarbone and weeps.

He holds her, pressing his lips against her hair, and closes his eyes. He rocks them gently, murmuring a steady stream of soothing nothings into her ear. Later, when the dawn comes, he knows her iron spirit will keep her moving forward. For now it’s enough to tighten his arms around her, to remind her that she’s not alone. For now, neither is he.


End file.
